


Strop

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Genre: Body Image, Kink Meme, M/M, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:02:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Changmin hates his hairy back. Yunho rather likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strop

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt referenced [this variety show](http://www.veoh.com/watch/v215606r6Jj3K22) in which Changmin discusses his hairy back (the same show where Yunho admits to issues with his chest). Fic is set during the _El Sol_ photobook shoot.

Changmin comes out of the bathroom to find Yunho frowning at the television. He’s watching an American crime show dubbed into Spanish. “Changmin,” he says without taking his gaze from the screen, “did we see this one already?”

“Yesterday.” Changmin dries his hair on the smaller of the two towels he’s wearing. “We saw it in English. The guy’s mother did it.”

“Oh.” Yunho continues watching. “Are you sure about that? Because I think the staff sergeant is pretty suspicious.”

“I’m sure.” Changmin is not in the mood to play along tonight. He goes back into the bathroom and hangs the small towel on the rail, then hitches up the larger towel that’s wrapped high around his waist. He catches sight of himself in the mirror. Not even the fogging from the heat of his shower can obscure his reflection, and he scowls at the weird stripe of hair along his spine. At the top it’s kind of fine and fair, and from a distance it’s not that noticeable, but it gets thicker and darker about halfway down the small of his back. 

He’d spent most of the early evening hoping that the photographer wouldn’t ask him to take his top off for the beach shots. Bad enough that he and Yunho had to roll in the sand—not even proper sand but gritty grey stuff sifted through with opaque slivers of white shells—without him scaring the locals with his peculiar body hair. But he’d been in luck and the shoot had gone well, even if it left him with sand in scratchy places.

Changmin adjusts the towel again and goes back into their room to find the TV switched off and Yunho sprawled across the bottom of the bed. Yunho had taken the first shower since he’d gone scratting about in the sand trying to find one hundred sea shells after he lost the thumb-wrestling game. He’s wearing a soft grey t-shirt and a pair of black boxer-briefs that Changmin suspects may be his, although by now he knows there’s no point in complaining about it.

The air con whirrs. Andalusia in the height of summer is hot and dry even right on the coast. It’s a different type of heat to Korea; sharper, less muggy. Yunho describes it as ‘energetic’. Changmin just thinks heat is heat, and at night it can be too much, especially when Yunho cuddles against him. Or it could be that he cuddles against Yunho, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. He just likes to hold onto something when he sleeps, and Yunho is the nearest available object.

“What’s wrong?” Yunho asks, studying him upside down from his place on the bed. “Why are you still wearing that towel? Are you cold?”

Changmin shakes his head and sits down, shifting a couple of pillows behind him. He adjusts the towel as it threatens to slip free of its knot.

“Changminnie.” Yunho rolls onto his side and looks at him. “You’ve been really quiet since we got back from the beach. You only had two beers at dinner. You said absolutely nothing on our walk around the city centre. You didn’t even laugh at that sculpture of the [hand-dove](http://i38.photobucket.com/albums/e144/epidote/hand_dove.jpg).”

“It looks like something you’d come up with,” Changmin says with a shrug. “A tame version of what you’d come up with, actually. I’m immune to bad art by now.”

Yunho says nothing. He just lies there and stares. 

Changmin shifts, restless. “My back, okay?” he finally says. “It’s my back.”

“Sunburn?” Yunho props his head on one hand. “Or the other thing?”

Embarrassment crawls through Changmin. He picks at the nubbly bits on the towel. “The other thing.”

“Show me.”

“I don’t—” Changmin stops. Stupid to say _I don’t want to_. It’s not like Yunho hasn’t seen his bizarre hairy back before. God, they’d even sat next to one another on that variety show all those years ago and confessed about their worst body issues. Angel wings, the hosts had said when they’d looked down the back of his shirt. Everyone else just ripped the shit out of him. Everyone except Yunho, who’d smiled and said, “It makes you really manly.”

It didn’t make him feel better. Not back then. He'd looked barely old enough to shave and yet he had all this hair sprouting in weird places. The stylists had tutted over it, as if he was making it grow on purpose just to spite them. Junsu had given him this cream once and said it’d help, but it didn’t, it just burned and made it all grow back seemingly ten times worse.

Another time, Yoochun had said he had really glossy hair, really thick, didn’t it hold a style well, and then he’d laughed so hard he’d cried because he didn’t mean the hair on Changmin’s head. Yunho had told Yoochun to shut up and he’d stroked Changmin’s back—actually touched that disgusting stripe of hair—and he’d said, “I like it. It means he’s a real man,” and Jaejoong had shot daggers at them both.

“Let me see,” Yunho says now, and his voice is soft and coaxing.

Changmin knows better than to protest. He turns over and lies flat, the top of his head against the pillows. 

Yunho sits up and strokes a hand around Changmin’s ankles, his touch dancing over damp skin until he reaches the towel. He continues the caress, running his palm up Changmin’s thighs and ass, the slightly rough texture of the towel rubbing in a way both soothing and sexy.

Distraction is something of a Yunho speciality, but it won’t work this time. 

“Don’t,” Changmin says, voice muffled by the quilt. It smells like all hotel bed sheets the world over, fresh and impersonal, and it’s so familiar that he finds himself relaxing even though Yunho is tugging at the back of the towel and drawing it down.

“Don’t what?” Yunho kneels beside him, the mattress bowing slightly. “Don’t tell you that I think it’s adorable?”

“It’s not.” Changmin turns his head. His cheeks are flushed and his pulse has picked up. Must be because he was lying face down and he wasn’t getting enough air. “You still hate your chest, no matter how much I tell you I like it.”

“It’s different,” Yunho says, leaning over Changmin’s back. “Usually people don’t see this part of you.”

It’s not different at all, but there’s no point in arguing. Changmin makes a sound as Yunho dips down and kisses the small of his back. Yunho holds still, lips soft against Changmin’s spine, then he moves, kisses very slowly and carefully as if he’s numbering the vertebrae.

“When you dry yourself,” Yunho murmurs, his voice pitched at just the right note to send a shiver through Changmin, “you shouldn’t just rub indiscriminately. It makes the hair fluff in all directions.”

“I hate it.” Changmin flattens his palms against the duvet. Takes a deep breath when he feels the warm, wet stroke of Yunho’s tongue over his skin. “What—”

“I want the hair to lie in its proper place,” Yunho says. “I’m grooming you.”

Changmin’s heart squeezes. Fuck, but that should not sound as cute as it does. It shouldn’t make him feel so much. He grits his teeth against the emotion. “I don’t want you to groom me. I want you to—to get rid of it for me.”

Yunho lifts his head just a little. His breath whispers over damp skin, and Changmin forces himself not to react. Bad enough that there’s a pulse low down in his belly and his cock is half hard. He can ignore this arousal if he really tries.

“You want me to go and buy something?” Yunho asks. “Like wax strips or that sugar stuff?”

The thought of Yunho unleashed in one of the local _farmacia_ is so terrifying that Changmin closes his eyes and turns his face back into the duvet. It’d been bad enough in the market, where Yunho had acted as if he’d never seen fruit and vegetables before. Bananas are bananas are bananas in Changmin’s opinion, but Yunho had insisted on buying a bag of mixed fruit just because ‘it tastes different in Spain’, and then he’d shared it with all the staff. The pomegranate had given him a bit of a hard time but he’d still managed to get into it and dig out the jewel-bright seeds, holding them up triumphantly with the juice running down his wrist and staining his shirtsleeve.

Such a stupid dork. God knows what he’d end up buying if he went out right now in search of depilation products. Changmin turns his head again. “Just use a razor, okay?”

Yunho gets off the bed and goes into the bathroom. He comes back with a large dollop of shaving foam in one hand and, in the other hand, a triple-bladed disposable razor dunked in a mug of water. 

Changmin eyes it all warily as Yunho climbs back onto the bed and makes himself comfortable. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“I love it when you’re supportive and encouraging.” Yunho rests the mug on the duvet, balancing it against one thigh, then he smoothes the foam down Changmin’s back in a thick, bubbly line. “Hold still.”

Changmin tenses. He trusts Yunho, of course he does; it’s just that Yunho is sometimes accident-prone. He knocks things over. Drops things on the floor. Falls off things. Walks into things. 

“Relax,” Yunho says, and glides the blade through the foam. Changmin makes a noise that sounds a little like _grahh_ as the razor does its triple-bladed work, shaving closer than close or whatever the advertisement says. It sweeps over him with a faint scritch, and Changmin is so aware of his weird body hair that he can feel each one sliced away to leave smooth, smooth skin.

Yunho pauses, dips the razor in the mug of water, then tugs one-handed at the towel around Changmin’s waist. “Take this off.”

Changmin presses down with his knees and lifts his hips just enough for him to unfasten the towel and lay it flat, and to adjust the angle of his dick.

“Just a little more,” Yunho says, and his free hand is splayed over Changmin’s tailbone, pulling down to make the flesh taut to ensure a closer shave. Changmin lets himself enjoy the sensation. It’s kind of odd, but pleasurable nonetheless. He likes the warmth of Yunho’s hand on his body. He likes the surety with which Yunho wields the razor. Yeah, he really does trust him, and that makes Changmin melt just a little.

Only a little, though.

The razor slides down over his coccyx, leaving a parallel line of foam that’s starting to melt over his skin. Changmin is about to flick the towel across and get Yunho to wipe it off, but then Yunho skids a finger through the slippery foam, gathers it, and runs it downwards.

Changmin lifts his head. Brings his elbows in against his ribs and pushes up as if he’s doing a yoga move. He stares at the black leather headboard and counts his breaths, a new kind of tension riding through him. 

There’s the swish of the razor dabbled in water. The clink of the plastic handle against the side of the mug. Yunho trails his soapy finger lower. “Changminnie,” he says, all low and sexy, “spread yourself open for me.”

Even though he was expecting it, Changmin freezes for a moment. “No.”

“Chang _min_.”

No fucking way. Changmin feels his mouth twist. “You are not—repeat, _not_ —going to shave _down there_.”

Damn it if Yunho doesn’t giggle. “Down where, baby?”

Ugh, stupid bastard. “You are not shaving my ass-crack, okay?”

“But it’s all hairy.” Yunho’s finger slides on down between his buttocks. “And I mean that in a nice way. It’s soft and silky and— Can I comb it? With my tongue?”

How romantic. Changmin rolls his eyes. “No, you freak.”

“Aww Changminnie, I’m hurt,” Yunho says, sounding totally the opposite. “Calling me names when we’re on our honeymoon.”

Changmin jerks his head and tries to glare over his shoulder. “This is not our honeymoon! Why are you so weird!”

Yunho affects an innocent air as he waggles the razor in the mug. “You wouldn’t bring me to Spain for our honeymoon? Where would you take me instead?”

“I am not— We’re not...” Changmin gives up, sets his teeth and glowers. “Idiot.”

Yunho gives him a bright smile and works his questing finger a little further down and in and— _oh_. 

Changmin jolts away. The action rubs his cock against the duvet, and that’s good, yeah, it is. So good that he does it again, desire waking and starting to thud through him. Then he catches himself and feels embarrassed, because he really shouldn’t be this easy. This was a serious situation beforehand and Yunho is just being distracting, and the distraction is working, and... ugh.

No more. Changmin rolls onto his back. He’s not fast enough with the towel, and Yunho pulls it aside before Changmin can cover himself.

“Hi,” Yunho says to Changmin’s cock. He is _such_ a freak sometimes, but Changmin’s dick likes it and leaps for him and it even drools a little. Changmin grimaces. Betrayed by his own cock; it’s tragic.

Yunho seems delighted. Yet another indication of his weirdness. He seems to like everything Changmin does, but he seems especially pleased to see Changmin’s erection, even though he doesn’t fall on it immediately the way Changmin was kind of perhaps maybe hoping that he would.

No, he doesn’t even touch Changmin’s dick. Instead he goes a little higher and strokes back and forth through the narrow line of fluff leading down from Changmin’s navel, then he runs his fingertips over bare skin and into Changmin’s pubic hair. He takes a little tuft of it between thumb and forefinger and tugs. Just slightly; not enough to hurt. Just enough for it to be arousing. Like... really arousing. 

Changmin jacks up his hips and starts to moan in response, then stops himself, so it comes out sounding like a choked hum. Yunho scribbles his fingers through more hair, his smile still bright, and Changmin’s suspicions sharpen.

“That doesn’t need shaving, either,” Changmin says. He actually likes having a treasure trail, because yes, that really _is_ manly, no matter what the stylists say.

Yunho tugs on Changmin’s pubes again, and pleasure shivers through him. “You sure about that?” Yunho asks. “A bit of manscaping never hurt anyone.”

“I’ll hurt you if you try it,” Changmin tells him.

“I could shave it into a shape. Y for Yunho. Or U for U-Know.”

“F for fuck off.” Changmin doesn’t move. He likes Yunho’s hand over his crotch. Likes it so much that his dick is nudging at Yunho’s palm and dabbing it with wetness. But Changmin isn’t completely lost to reason yet, especially not when Yunho moves his hand down to fondle Changmin’s sac. 

“Put that razor anywhere near my balls and I will kill you,” Changmin informs him. “Very slowly. Over several weeks. And it’ll really hurt.”

Yunho pouts. He puts the razor and mug down on the floor then sits up, curves both hands over Changmin’s crotch. “But baby, if I can’t shave them, I’ll just have to _pull_ the hair out.”

And he does. Just one, but fuck it hurts, a stab of fire that makes Changmin’s eyes water with the shock of it. “Ow, you—!” 

He launches himself at Yunho, but Yunho is ready for him and they end up sort of wrestling together, which feels much hotter than it must look, especially as Yunho is laughing the whole time, laughing in that really high and breathless way that he does whenever he’s turned on. Lust kicks and kicks and Changmin gets his arms and legs around Yunho and drags him down, and Yunho pins him, which is what they both wanted but at least this way no one loses face.

Changmin’s cock is rock hard. Clearly it has no real concept of what’s right and wrong, because he should not be horny after this dorky fuckwit just pulled out one of his short and curlies. He pretend-whines. “That hurt. Not funny.”

Yunho beams at him. “Let me kiss it better.”

Okay, maybe it doesn’t hurt that much. The sting is fading, but Yunho isn’t to know that. Changmin grumbles and lifts his hips. “Apologise.”

“To your balls? Sure.” Yunho squirms down his body with intent.

Ohhh. Oh yeah. Changmin forgets all about the fading pinprick of pain as Yunho nuzzles into his balls and breathes out, “Oh Changminnie, I love the taste of you.” Romantic sap. Changmin grunts in response and claws one hand into the duvet, curves the other over the back of Yunho’s head, soft-scratching through his hair as he tries subtly to bring Yunho’s attention to his throbbing cock.

But Yunho is having too much fun with Changmin’s balls, lapping at them until they’re all wet and slippery, sucking them into his mouth and drawing them down, so Changmin groans and lets him get on with it while he attends to the more important matter of jerking off. He releases his hold on Yunho’s head and grips his dick. He ruts up, spreading his legs a little. Pre-come slides over his fist and Changmin groans again, pumps his cock, twists his palm over the swollen head.

“You’re supposed to—” uhhhh God yes, that’s so good “—be _apologising_ to me,” Changmin pants as he finds the familiar rhythm and starts to work it.

“I’m sorry,” Yunho says, the apology mumbled and indistinct because his mouth is full. He slurps away from Changmin’s balls, his face all messy, and wriggles up to watch Changmin wanking. 

Changmin comes close to hitting him on the chin, that’s how close Yunho gets. Aggravating dork. But Changmin forgives him when Yunho sticks out his tongue and curls it just so and tastes the glistening liquid from the slit of Changmin’s cock. It’s just a quick flick, but what’s really filthy about it is that for a heartbeat there’s a glimmering thread of pre-come linking them, cock to tongue. 

Changmin mewls, thrusts up towards Yunho’s mouth. “Oh fuck, please.”

Yunho smiles at him. Licks him again, quick quick slow, then opens wide and takes him in, down, down all the way, his lips stretched around Changmin’s shaft. Changmin whimpers and closes his eyes on the sensation, thrusts up just to revel in the long, slow drag as Yunho lets him slide out. 

“Watch me, baby,” Yunho says, and Changmin looks, helpless with lust as Yunho licks his lips and goes down on him again. Arousal pours through him, as sweet and sticky as melting honey, and Changmin moans, says a garble of words that make no sense in any language, and fucks into Yunho’s mouth.

Yunho takes him all, kissing Changmin’s fingers, which are still wrapped around the base of his dick. Changmin remembers that he was indulging in the act of masturbation at one point and it might be a good idea if he continued it. He grips tight, jerks himself. Slow at first, careful not to mash his fingers against Yunho’s mouth, but then Yunho lifts up and focuses his attention around the crown, and Changmin fists his cock with increasing strength and speed.

Yunho hums, sucks on him with the perfect pressure, tongue dancing, working his strokes to match the pace Changmin sets. Saliva runs down Changmin’s dick, slides over his fingers. His balls draw up, tight and full. He’s gonna shoot soon; he can’t hold back much longer.

Orgasm coils, wrapping around his spine. Yunho’s breaths are swift, a hungry groan building low in his throat. His mouth is getting sloppy on Changmin’s cock. Changmin thinks Yunho is jerking off with him, but he doesn’t know for sure, doesn’t know and doesn’t care, and he’s a greedy fucker but he doesn’t care about that either because this is too good. He gives himself over to it, rams harder into Yunho’s mouth, feels the hot, wet caress surround him.

_Fuck_.

Changmin grabs for something, anything, to anchor himself. He gets a handful of the discarded towel and Yunho’s shoulder and holds on to both as he comes, hips bucking, crying out in the hush of the hotel room as climax rushes over him.

It takes him a while to catch his breath. Changmin lies flat and lets Yunho clean him up with delicate little licks. _I’m grooming you_ , Changmin remembers him saying earlier, and hell yeah, Yunho can groom him as much as he likes when it feels as good as this. Pleasure spirals lazily through him, and Changmin puts a hand in Yunho’s hair and gives it an affectionate ruffle.

Then he remembers that he’s a greedy fucker, and now he feels a little bit guilty. “Uh,” he says, lifting his head to look at Yunho, “are you—I mean...”

Yunho wrinkles his nose. “I totally came in my underwear. Your underwear, actually.” He pauses, looks embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”

Changmin chokes with laughter. He can’t even be mad. Not when he knows he can make Yunho apologise to him all over again.


End file.
